


Coming Clean

by WhiteLadyoftheRing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyoftheRing/pseuds/WhiteLadyoftheRing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in Neverland searching for Henry, Snow takes a spare moment to show Charming she can out-seduce the Siren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

> From an anon prompt on Tumblr: Snow finds out about the Siren and tries to do better.
> 
> My thanks go out to Angie for the beta!!!

“Looks like the trail runs cold here,” says David, folding his arms across his chest and gazing out over the expansive surface of the lake. “Not even sure if it was Henry to begin with.”

 

Snow sighs. It’s been nearly two days since their grandson has gone missing, and so far every lead has come up cold. For a family so adept at finding each other, she thinks, they certainly are failing to live up to their reputation. Neverland is dangerous, even more dangerous by night, but after a day of searching (and bickering) as a group, they’d decided they couldn’t waste any more time and split off in pairs, hoping someone would succeed before nightfall. Together they'd found a trail in the thick of the forest, leading them to this lake, but – much to their disappointment – it doesn't seem to have done them much good.

 

She certainly hopes the others are having better luck.

 

Charming shrugs out of his holster, then his vest and begins unbuttoning his shirt, standing at the edge of the water. She watches appreciatively, dropping her bow and quiver at her feet and following suit, working at the buttons of her shirt. While Maine had still been covered by the lingering chill of winter, Neverland is much more temperate, and though she’d shed both her jacket and sweater the day before, she still feels the shirt cling to her body in the humidity. The lake will be a good place to cool off and rinse the sweat from them for the time being.

 

Shrugging out of her shirt, she pauses, watching her husband - having kicked off his shoes - stepping out into the water and scooping up water in his hands to pour over his head. It stirs something within her; not just a need, but a memory - a memory of a thought.

 

The siren. She’d read the book (not to snoop in her husband’s past, she swears), and read about a battle with a siren that wasn’t so much a battle of the body but a battle of the mind. At first, she’d been confused as to why he’d kept that particular adventure from her - but perhaps secrets in marriages are par for the course; she has a few of her own - until she’d turned the page, that is.

 

Supernatural tramp.

 

That supernatural tramp who’d nearly led her husband to his death with _her_ face. Her husband, who had willingly followed her, seduced by her empty promises.

 

Hmph, she thought. She could certainly do better than _that_.

She sheds the rest of her clothing in a rush, pinning the articles under a rock so they won’t blow away in the breeze and approaches him slowly, making as little noise as possible. The ground is rough against her bare feet, and she hisses as her toe catches the sharp edge of a rock.

 

“Mary Margaret?” David frowns, half-turning with his eyes clamped shut against the water dripping from his hair.

 

“Charming,” she chuckles, a low, throaty sound, and steps behind him, fingers gliding across his sides, just above his pants. “We aren’t in Storybrooke anymore. You can drop the ‘Mary Margaret’.” She presses her bare chest against the skin of his back, rising on her toes to breathe against his ear, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants. “You can drop these, too.”

 

He tenses against her, taking one shuddering breath after another. “Snow,” he murmurs, hands covering hers. “What are you--”

 

“Shhh,” she soothes, lips against the shell of his ear. Henry’s book hadn’t been too specific about _exactly_ what had transpired, but if the way his hands are clenched over hers is any indication, she’s on the right track. “You know you want this.”

 

“But Henry--”

 

“Isn’t here,” she says evenly, fingers gliding across his hips to work at his belt buckle, then the button on his jeans. “Trail ran cold, remember?”

 

“Mm,” he agrees, giving in a little.

 

She works the zipper down and presses her lips to the skin just behind his ear, lingering as her hands slip easily down his boxers and his breath catches in his throat. “We can rest here for a while,” she whispers, and smiles as he’s already hardening in her grasp. “I know you find lakes to be … _stimulating_.”

 

He tenses against her then, confirming once and for all that not all men are completely oblivious. “... Snow?”

 

She strokes him slowly, fingernails tracing the length of him as she pushes his boxers down just enough. “You know,” she says, and pauses to press a lingering kiss to the back of his neck, “it’s amazing what you learn when you _read a book_.”

 

He tenses again, this time twisting his head to catch a glimpse of her. “Snow--” he begins, but her name ends in a ragged moan as she strokes her thumb just over the tip.

 

“It seems I’ve got a challenge ahead of me,” she teases, but her voice is low and full of desire. She isn’t mad - and even if she had been at first, it never would have lasted long - but there’s a greedy side of her, a certain possessiveness that flares at the thought of some other woman - some _thing_ \- daring to lay a hand on what is rightfully hers. She rounds him quickly, releasing him long enough to stand in front of him, gazing up at him through thick lashes as she steps forward to press her body flush against his. “Need to show you that I can do better.”

 

“Snow, I--” but she doesn’t let him get farther than that, closing her mouth over his. She brings one hand up to cradle the back of his neck, pulling him closer into her as her other hand slips between them to stroke him once more. She catches his lower lip between her teeth and bites down, harder than she normally would, then soothes it with a slow, torturous stroke of her tongue. He sighs into her at that, one of his hands raking through her hair while the other strokes down the long plane of her back before settling on her ass, pulling her to him as he grinds his hips into hers, her hand still caught between them.

 

Snow pulls away, smiling triumphantly to find him still heavy-lidded and gasping, completely bereft at her absence. She’s never been one much for seduction; their lovemaking has almost always been spontaneous, overtaking them like a whirlwind, so that there’s never really been a need for this sort of calculated performance. But, she thinks with a wicked grin, she’s quite good at it.

 

She leans forward to press a fleeting kiss to his jaw, and then to the hollow of his throat, following a line down his chest and abdomen, lingering over the strips of gnarled, pink flesh that serve as reminders of every sacrifice he’s been willing to make. Eventually, she sinks to her knees there in the knee-deep water, hands on his hips as she takes him in her mouth, gazing up at him through her eyelashes.

 

Steadying his hips with her hands, she strokes slowly at first, gliding the flat of her tongue against him as she takes him as deep as she can. He moans and she moans in reply, his ecstasy alone enough to churn both desire and wonderment within her. His hands find her shoulders, then her hair, then her neck, pawing for anything he can reach, and then her eyes meet his, bright and full of want.

 

“Snow,” he groans, and pushes her back, hands settled on her shoulders.

 

She pulls away, taking deep breaths as he pulls her to her feet. Somehow, even _her_ legs are unsteady and she falls into him, arms looping around his neck as his mouth closes over hers and they stumble backward, away from the water. This isn’t exactly what she’d intended when she’d made the spontaneous decision to seduce him, but all that is lost now as she is lost in him and he in her, hearts and bodies too entwined to be separated.

 

He falls back onto a large rock at the edge of the lake, pulling her into his lap in the process. His mouth finds that certain spot in the hollow of her throat and she gasps, shuddering against him as she straddles him, hovering over him while his fingers grip tightly to her hips, urging her downward.

 

“Charming,” she sighs, shifting her hips so he’s teasing at her entrance. She laughs softly - huskily - when he squirms beneath her, a whimper escaping his lips.

 

“You tease,” he replies gruffly.

 

She shifts her hips again, trembling at the sensation, but appreciative of the low groan he makes. “So,” she gasps, cheeks flushed and eyes dark as she leans her forehead against his, “do I win?”

 

His fingertips trail the length of her spine, just barely ghosting over her skin, raising gooseflesh in their wake. “Win what?” he hums, and moves his hips in time with hers, still hovering over him.

 

“Am I better than _her_?” she clarifies, breathless. “That supernatural tramp.”

 

He laughs then, a deep, loving laugh that rumbles in his chest and resonates through her body. “Oh Snow,” he smiles, cupping her cheek in his palm. “No-one could ever stand a chance against you.”

 

Satisfied, she sinks down onto him finally, a strangled noise escaping her throat, echoed by his the moan he muffles against her shoulder. She rocks against him, rewarded by the open-mouthed kisses he presses to her chest, by the sharp sensation of his mouth closing over her right nipple. He supports her with a hand against her back as she arches into him, his other hand still clamped firmly on her hip to guide her movements, bucking more frantically against him.

 

“David,” she breathes, as her fingernails leave thin red lines across his back, the fingers of the other hand threading through his hair to pull him closer. It isn’t the name of a man who once broke her heart, but that of a shepherd who reminded her who she was. It’s the name she’d once only ever whisper to him in the intimacy of their bed, an affirmation that she knows and accepts all of him.

 

And she does.

 

And he knows, making a satisfied sound against her skin and bucking into her harder. He gazes up at her with desire and something else altogether - that all-consuming love that never ceases to make her head spin - and it pushes her nearly to the edge.

 

“David,” she says again, voice high and thin as she tries to hold back just a moment longer.

 

“Snow,” he replies, his own voice so ragged that she knows he’s close too now.

 

And then he’s pressing his thumb against her, and she can’t hold back any longer, shuddering around him as she holds on tight, riding out the sensation. She feels him release a moment later, a strangled cry escaping his lips.

 

She slumps against him, struggling to regain her breath as his arms come around her, holding her close. She can still feel his pulse inside her, slowing as his breathing evens out as well.

 

“That was,” he comments breathlessly, then swallows, clearly not recovered yet, “wow.”

 

“Mm,” she agrees, closing her eyes against his shoulder. She stays that way for a long while, feeling his heartbeat pulse through his whole body, appreciating the way he breathes in rhythm with her.

 

“You were really jealous, huh?” he asks finally, sounding a little amused, but gentle all the same.

 

“I wasn’t _jealous_ ,” she says petulantly - she _wasn’t_ \- and lifts her head from his shoulder. “I was just--” She trails off, distracted by the sight of something blowing in the wind behind him.

 

“Snow?” he asks, sounding concerned.

 

She squints - it’s far away but it’s there - looking past the expanse of trees to find a familiar grey-and-red scarf hooked over a branch some thirty yards away. “Henry’s scarf.”

 

“What?” he gasps, and sits up in a rush, pulling her with him to stand on her own two feet.

 

There’s no mistaking it - that is, indeed Henry’s scarf.

 

He tugs his jeans the rest of the way back up his hips and sets about fastening them. “Get dressed,” he says. “And stay alert. We don’t know what’s out there.”

 

She sets about searching for her clothes, and as she slips on her still-sticky-wet shirt, she laughs in spite of herself.

 

Charming smiles back at her, adjusting his holster. “What?” he laughs softly.

 

“Fine job we did of cleaning up,” she quips, and he chuckles as he hands her her bow.

 


End file.
